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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083079">AMOR FATI (INTERLUDE) Postcards From The Future</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/porgsploitation/pseuds/porgsploitation'>porgsploitation</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Black Tapes Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abandonment, Abuse, Blood, Dementia, F/M, Gen, Gore, Interlude, seperate piece, so many npcs, this gets dark, unbetaed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083079</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/porgsploitation/pseuds/porgsploitation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An Interlude in Two Acts for my 11 chapter fic "Amor Fati":</p><p>Act One: The Finding of Bobby Mames and the Tragedy of the Strand Family.<br/>Act Two: A wedding, a stranger, and a headache.<br/>---</p><p>There are a number of triggers to this including but not limited to: <br/>Early onset dementia<br/>Depression<br/>Abuse discussions<br/>Eating disorders<br/>Child death<br/>Murder<br/>abandonment</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charlie Strand &amp; Richard Strand, Coralee Strand &amp; Richard Strand, Coralee Strand/Richard Strand, Coralee Strand/Thomas Warren, Richard Strand &amp; OCs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>AMOR FATI (INTERLUDE) Postcards From The Future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pennsylvania:</p><p>---<br/>Richard Strand is worried. </p><p>He’s worried about his mother. Marilyn Strand is the picture of a disgruntled fifties housewife. Ever since his father died and she wasn’t able to throw herself across his casket dramatically (he assumed) she’s lost weight. She’s skeletal, her hair hanging limp and blonde across her forehead. He’s made dinner for a third time but she won’t eat - she just keeps watching the television and the Bobby Mames case.</p><p>He said as much to Cheryl, quietly, the two of them watching their mother in the cavernous living room. He doesn’t believe in twinning - in the so-called mysterious “bond” between twins and between siblings - but he is grateful to have Cheryl by his side. His younger sister is watching their mother with his ice blue eyes - their father’s eyes. </p><p>“I keep trying to get her to take a shower.” Cheryl’s voice is soft, “she won’t. She says she doesn’t want to miss anything. I was thinking we could move the TV into her room…”</p><p>“And give into this...delusion?” Richard crossed his arms, “She’s feeding into some weird ...compulsion neither of us are going anywhere.” </p><p>Cheryl grimaced, “You sound like dad.”</p><p>It stung like a slap in the face. He glared at her and hugged himself tighter, “I’m sorry alright? I’m just...worried. And I’m tired.” he rubbed at his nose, “I was up late doing homework.” </p><p>“So was I.” Cheryl sounded defiant but she brushed her hair out of her eyes and hugged herself as well. They mirrored each other though neither would acknowledge it.  Flannel shirt rolled up over his forearms. He hates that the two of them are growing. They’re both taller, he’s broader, she’s more womanly and looking at his mother he feels like he’s feeding off her somehow. Like they’re both parasites and one day there will be nothing of her and just <i>them</i>. </p><p>“...Right.” </p><p>“Right.”</p><p>Cheryl breaks first, her arms dropping, “Are you still having headaches? Wayne said you had one so bad yesterday you fainted at school.”</p><p>“Don’t remind me.” </p><p>That had been embarrassing. <i>Beyond embarrassing.</i> he blamed the heat and not drinking enough water but he’d passed out doing the mile and he’d gotten plenty of ribbing - once the guys were sure he was okay. <i>Egghead cracked man. You okay?</i></p><p>He rubbed his temple. No. He wasn’t.  He pulled at his long sleeves and rubbed his wrists.</p><p>“Yeah but I took an aspirin.” He shook his head as his mother turned up the volume, “Happy Saturday I guess. You’ve got work right?”</p><p>“Babysitting.”</p><p>The Strand twins were taking care of their mother. Sometimes people brought them food but Richard knew most of them talked about “Marilyn’s issues” in town and Cheryl said she heard the girls in church talking about her mother. <i>Gossipy hens</i>.” Still he worked part time in the pharmacy, he babysat, and Cheryl babysat and swept up and served at LuAnne’s diner. </p><p>“Enjoy your day off.” Cheryl grinned, “...and try and feel better okay?”</p><p>His head rang with pain as she darted out the door and he moved into the living room to sit beside her. </p><p>The place had the air of ghosts, the same ghosts his father decried. Ancient statues and artifacts had been moved into his office and replaced with his mother’s figurines and flowers, faded wallpaper and pictures of the family. </p><p>“Mama, can I sit with you?” </p><p>His mother said nothing. He frowned when he saw her meal untouched on the coffee table.</p><p>“Mama - you need to eat.” He sat beside her without her permission, “Please eat something for me you’re skin and bones.”</p><p>“I - what?” She stared at him, her watery green eyes blank, “...Oh. Oh Richie I’m sorry…” her hands shook as she reached for the bowl, “I’m so clumsy. I...do I have work today?”</p><p>She had been fired from the department store six months ago.</p><p>“No mama. Will you eat? Please? It’s you and me today…” His voice trails off. Beneath the table was a worn box filled with discarded toys labeled “baby things.” his eyes widened. He had put the box in the garage years ago-  or had it been his father? His mind raced for a moment. He had nearly perfect recall - so did Cheryl. Their mother’s decline into dementia had thrown them both into a panic. Their father was a rat bastard but he had taught them to value their minds above all else.</p><p>He hadn’t put it in the garage. His father did. Years ago. He had been upset. So had Cheryl. <i>Childhood is a short time. In ancient Greece and early Europe you would have both been adults.</i> no matter what that did to warp people. Richard was of the mind that forcing children into some twisted system of making decisions led to stupid things that shaped the ills of the current world where people were abused and shackled to outdated notions.</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>“Mother why is this box out?” the box smelled like mothballs and dust and probably had worms and other creatures living in it. He hadn’t had time to clean out the garage.</p><p>She blinked, her meal still ignored, “...Box?” </p><p>“The box mother.” His voice was hard, “The box of mine and Cheryl’s things. Were you going through it again?”</p><p>“Oh honey I thought that when Eleanor had her boy back she could use a few things...You’ve outgrown so many clothes these past few years and we could...Cheryl’s things…”</p><p>“Cheryl is at work.” Richard grimaced. He watched his mother watch the news, hands in the box. Wooden blocks and cowboy racers. His collection of hot wheels. Cheryl’s barrel of monkeys. Her worn bear found its way into his mother’s claw like fingers, “Mother you need to eat. And I need to put those things away.”</p><p>“Oh no. Oh no please. Look see? There’s Mr. Stuffins. And here’s your blankie…” she took it and with the practiced hands of a parent she began to wrap the bear in it, humming to herself, “You two used to take these everywhere. You cried so much when it got muddy-”</p><p>“Mother. Eat.” Her mother’s gaze didn’t leave the television, “Please. Eat Damn it. You haven’t slept again. If you don’t eat you’ll pass out.”</p><p>“Oh honey I will-”</p><p>“You keep saying that but you’re <i>not</i>.” He grimaced. He was 16. He should be out at the movies with Wayne and the guys, he should be thinking about Louise Kaminsky new jeans and how her ass looked in them. He should not be holding his childhood watching his mother decay. </p><p>“Richie calm down-”</p><p>“When you eat mother.” </p><p>Her glazed eyes turned back to the television and anger rose in his chest. She held the thing - the bear blanket thing, like a totem, a talisman, a cross. </p><p>“Mama. Mother. <i>Mother.</i>”</p><p>“In a minute dear.”</p><p>What happened next he would hate forever. He would hate it because he sounded almost <i>exactly</i> like his father. </p><p>“Damn it Marilyn <i>I need you to eat your lunch.</i>”</p><p>His voice echoed off the walls and rafters, off the windows.  He had his father’s voice. They were descendants of blue collar dockworkers, making themselves into academics. The last vestiges of those who wanted to grow as people. Who wanted to reach for something better than the smell of fish and dirt under their nails.</p><p>His mother flinched away and lowered her gaze. </p><p>“I’m sorry Howard.” she lowered her head, “I’ll do as you want. I was just worried about the children. I miss them.”</p><p>That was too much. Richard Strand felt his head crack and his heart break.</p><p>“Mama, Father’s not here.” His voice was thick with tears, “It’s me. It’s <i>Richie</i>. I’m so sorry I yelled. I’m just scared.” Tears ran down his cheeks and he pulled off his glasses and let out a sad little sob, “I need you to eat, Bobby doesn’t need you Cheryl does.  I do.”</p><p>Her eyes lit up with that familiar intelligence. People forgot Marilyn Strand was as intelligent as her husband. As wise. As good. As kind.</p><p>“Richard?- oh Richard. Oh no oh no sweetheart.” Her eyes widened, “Oh goodness. I...Oh Richard what happened? Did I have an episode?” </p><p>“...No-”</p><p>“Don’t lie to me Richard James Strand.” She sounded scared, “How long was I gone? I took my pills…” </p><p>“It wasn’t long.” He reached over to take her hands. </p><p>“Are you all right?” She studied him, “You look pale, oh honey…” </p><p>“It’s nothing.” </p><p>“Now Richie…”</p><p>“Nothing.” His voice was thick, “Nothing mama. Will you eat? I made you stew. I want your opinion.”  he smiled, “I used a lot of garlic.”</p><p>“I-oh. Okay.” She sniffed, “It’s a little cold dear. You should always serve it hot but -” She lifted the bowl and tried some, her eyes lighting up with genuine interest,“Oh Richie that’s delicious.”</p><p>“Will you finish the bowl?” he hesitated, “You can keep Mr. Stuffins and my blanket but I need to take the box back okay?” he was worried about the rug and dust on it, “I’ll put it somewhere you can get it.” She’d forget where it was hopefully but his blanket and Cheryl’s bear would remain with them.</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>“Okay.” She smiled pacified, holding the creature, “You two used to be thick as thieves. Remember?” She held the wrapped creature like one of her children, “And Cheryl and Mr. Stuffins. You and your blankie though...Oh...it hurt to see your father take that away from you. I fought him about it. He got angry as he did until I held my own private action against him. Lysistrata had nothing on me.” </p><p>It was so easy to forget his mother was an English major. That she could have been a professor. That she instead was reduced to teaching high school.  He settled in beside her, “No. You?” discomfort aside he was pleased to hear her make an intelligent reference. </p><p>“It was one of the few things I could do for the two of you.” She cupped his cheek, “Your father...he had it in him to be kind. I know you don’t think that but he did. And it hurt him when I told him I didn’t love him.”</p><p>He mostly remembered the day of his father taking away all his toys and Cheryl’s too.</p><p>“I remember mama.” </p><p>“Richie this is lovely.” She had another spoonful and his heart lifted, “This is just delicious. Will you make some for your father  when he gets home? He needs to see you can take care of yourself. He’s actually quite a good cook too.”</p><p>He stared at her as she delved back into her stew, taking a few more bites and setting it down to watch the news. He stared at her, then at the television, his mind filled with static and white noise. <i>Bobby Mames. Bobby fucking Mames.</i> The little bastard had been annoying. He had been playing cowboys and indians. Bobby Mames had driven his mother insane. She had been holding on despite losing her job, despite what the doctor’s called “early onset dementia”. Then she and Eleanor had tea and his mother, his good kind wonderful help every neighbor mother hadn’t been able to do a damn thing. And she had tried. She had rolled up her sleeves and joined a search party. She had made food and baked, she wore herself to the bone and she had climbed into Cheryl’s bed and held her crying begging her not to leave. </p><p>It was too much. <i>Annoying little shit</i>. He once shot him with a plastic arrow. He was young and he’d swallowed it but perhaps the world was better off without an annoying snot nosed-</p><p>He crushed that thought as he held his mother’s hand before collecting her lunch. The headache was back <i>and it hurt</i>. Dear God it hurt it felt like someone was driving a spike into his skull. He staggered against the door frame and turned back to stare at the ghost of his mother. </p><p>She couldn’t do anything.</p><p><i>He could</i>.<br/>---</p><p>The boy is wearing a green sweatshirt.</p><p>The sweatshirt is full of holes and torn. He has tiny fingers and tiny shoes and The shoes stick in his mind because tiny shoes and tiny hands are so strange. He’s always been big for his age, he and Cheryl both. The little boy has blood oozing out of the holes. Purple and black sores open with his skin. They are <i>stab wounds</i> and looking at him he can feel each one of those knife marks. They pucker skin.</p><p>The little boy is standing by a river and Richard blinks because he’s crying. He’s used to caring for people so he moves forward and the little boy points. </p><p><i>He said I could have candy</i>.</p><p>The little ghost lets out a heart wrenching sob. His hands grasped at him. <i>He gave me some…</i> The tears carved grooves in his dead cheeks.</p><p>
  <i>He left me there to bleed.</i>
</p><p>The tiny body is bruised and decaying and a smell rears under his nose like a horse. Richard backs up a step and the little ghost stares at him.</p><p><i>You won’t leave me will you Richie? Please don’t leave me.</i> and Bobby Mames moves, <i>You babysit for all the kids, you and Wayne please don’t leave me…</i></p><p>“I can’t.” Richard Strand stands, “I’m sorry Bobby, I’ll find you. I swear to God I’ll find you…” </p><p><i>Please don’t leave me Richie.</i> The ghost is following him now <i>Find me. Find me- <b>Find me!</b></i> He is dragged back by hideous tall things with long skeletal fingers and Richard Strand <i>screams</i>.</p><p>Ghosts learn to howl early. They learn how to beat their hands against their chest and cry and rattle chains young. Richard wakes up sweating, heart hammering in his chest. When he pads downstairs he finds his mother looking rail thin in a bathrobe with the news on.</p><p>“...Mama why aren’t you asleep?” The younger Strand adjusts his glasses, stifling a yawn, “...Have you been up all night watching TV?”</p><p>“Why are you awake?” His mother avoided the question, “Let me make you a cup of tea.” </p><p>She always did that. Made tea. It was her answer to everything - probably because she was British even if the last traces of her accent barely lingered. He sat down at the table and stared at her, his heart bursting in his chest. Anxiety manifested as chest pain for him and closing his eyes he saw the broken body of the boy he babysat and shook it off.</p><p>“Mama please sleep.”</p><p>“After tea Richard.” Her voice had an edge.  She had long blonde hair done up in a pile on her head, the circles around her eyes so deep they had sunken into her skull, “...Here. It’s sleepytime.”</p><p>He wanted to ask her about his headaches, he wanted her to sit with him and put a cool compress to his head and tell her about his nightmare and how real it felt. She was coherent however, and he didn’t dare risk that for her sake. </p><p>“...Feel better?”</p><p>“I do.” He nods, holding the tea in his hands, lying, “I love you mama. Are <i>you</i> okay?”</p><p>“I was thinking about my episode.” Her hands shook, “I’m sorry sweetheart, that you had to deal with that. I don’t think…” she sighed, “I don’t think I’m well honey and I’m scared…” </p><p>He moved up to hug her, his tea forgotten as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her as tightly as he could.</p><p>“It’s going to get better mama.” He whispered into her hair and squeezed her shoulders, “I’ll make it better. I’ll do everything I can to make it better. To help Bobby come home.”<br/>---</p><p>1988 -<br/>Chicago</p><p>“...Beside the white chickens.” </p><p>Coralee Jacobson finished her poem and looked up at her lover, her boyfriend, her <i>husband</i> and everything fell away. He was so stupidly tall, features careworn even at his age, teeth white and hands warm in hers. Standing in the light of the cathedral he looked poised and polished, achieving that professor and scholarly look he cultivated. Dressed in lace and silk and laced in a tight gown she felt like a princess. </p><p>She kissed his fingers impulsively, grinning up at him.</p><p>“I pledge to be beside you. Like the birds and the flowers, the trees of the field. I pledge to support you. To love you always and forever.”</p><p>Richard was an emotional man, not that he’d admit it. Now however he wiped a hand beneath his glasses and breathed slowly before letting go of her hands, reluctantly, “...Well. I mean I don’t know. If I could compete with that sorry everybody my-” He breathes, “My Coralee is a better writer than I am. Which is a feat, coming from a scientist.”</p><p>They stared at each other before he cleared his throat and pulled a folded paper from his pocket. He stared at it, then folded it back and took her hands again.</p><p>“Coralee Jacobson. You’ve left me speechless. I think my sister, my mother, god rest her soul, and my father would all tell you that was impossible. That it takes a rare person to...to leave me speechless, to leave me breathless. I will love you forever. So much...depends on the wheelbarrow that is us and I...pledge to work beside you and to love you and I...I am fucking this up.”</p><p>There was a gentle laugh from the audience and Coralee looked over Richard’s shoulder to see his daughter touch her father’s hip. </p><p>“...Mr. Strand? Ms Jacobson? I…” The priest smiled as Charlie wrapped herself around her father’s waist before Coralee stepped forward. Father Callahan spread his hands wide.</p><p>“I think the family has spoken. I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Strand. You may kiss the bride.”</p><p>Richard swept her up into a kiss worthy of the ages.  Charlie wrapped her arms around their waists and for one single perfect moment all the souls in the room were at peace. They were all laughing when they pulled apart.</p><p>Coralee Strand found herself holding Richard’s hand. He didn’t want to let go and neither did she as the two of them walked down the aisle with Charlie following behind them throwing flowers. They had opted for non-traditional wild flower petals leaving splashes of color across the church floor. Friends and family cheered as they turned back. </p><p>“Oh god. The can thing is <i>real</i>. I didn’t know the can thing was real isn’t that going to damage the bumper?...”</p><p>“Relax.” She put a gentle hand on his, “It’s a rental dear.” </p><p>“Yeah but that means we pay for it if the bumper gets damaged-” he looked back and Coralee saw her parents swoop in to take Charlie’s hands. Richard’s daughter was bright eyed - his same blue eyes in twilight skin and thick curly hair. He waved at her and she waved back before he kissed Coralee and she felt her heart flutter.</p><p>“I love you so much.”</p><p>“I love you too.” </p><p>They bundled into the ridiculously colored limo and kissed, his tie untied by the time they got to the venue and her own veil askew, hair dangling around her features. </p><p>Was it possible to not stop smiling? To pull a muscle in a cheek? She held his hand into the dining hall, glasses of champagne pressed into her hand like well wishes. Coralee stood up and gave a speech, her voice trembling only slightly before she raised her glass in a toast. She had insisted only on orange juice - she was 12 - and Richard had reluctantly agreed. <i>I’m a mother. I’m a mother.</i> it was a heady scary thought.</p><p>It wasn’t until later, in the midst of the first course, that she realized it was more than that. Richard was drunk - drunker than she’d ever seen him - and she was grateful for her parents taking charge of Charlie until she looked to the back of the room and saw Thomas Warren standing there like the red death at the feast.</p><p>He wore red, she saw. He wore red scales and it was amazing how not a single person saw him.</p><p>“...I’m just-” </p><p>“Hmnh?” Richard blinked at her, “...Coralee?...Come back.” He tugged at her hand, “Come sit down. We’re going to do cake. And our dance.”</p><p>“I’d like you to eat your steak.” She pointed, “Because my love you are very very drunk. But I need to go to the bathroom and I need you to sober up.”</p><p>“Sober-yeah. Yeah okay.” He grinned, “I’m really excited for our dance.”</p><p>They were dancing to Etta James’s “At Last.” </p><p>Thomas loomed. She kissed Richard’s cheek as he turned to his steak and Charlie approached him. Turning down the stairs she lifted her train and looked back at the ballroom entrance to see Warren was gone.</p><p>He found her in the hallway. The private hallway for the bridal party. It was a big affair because-</p><p>“Hail once and future queen.” He bowed, voice mocking, “...My sincerest congratulations for marrying our lady’s mantle, her vessel on earth. How does it feel?”</p><p>“You don’t have to be cruel.” Coralee tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, “I’m just doing my job.”</p><p>“You’re right.” Warren’s voice was soft as he approached, “I can’t help it. Seeing you there looking like a princess in silk and lace...I just remember you and I together…”  </p><p>“What do you want?” her voice was weak as she approached. Nights, millions of nights raced across her vision. His lithe and lean body, smooth and cold and calm against her. His face between her thighs. Their minds <i>twisted</i> together.</p><p>“Thomas I have to go back, I have to dance. Thomas <i>please</i>.”</p><p>She shoved him off her, a knife pressed to his neck in a movement that made him laugh aloud.</p><p>“I wanted to give you this.” He pulled out a ring engraved with Tiamat’s sigil and she stared at it in awe, “You are initiated into our high circle. She has favored you.”</p><p><i>Favored</i>. </p><p>She felt sick. He dragged a hand over her chest and she shoved him away before accepting the ring, pulling it out of his fingers to roll the ring in hers. It was silver - engraved. A single red gem glowed at the center of the design that she had grown up worshipping.</p><p><i>Favored</i>.</p><p>And all she had to do was get pregnant. Get pregnant with the same goofy man who cried when she’d finished a love poem to him. Who she could talk with for hours. She wanted it. She wanted it not for Tiamat but for a baby for a baby’s sake.</p><p>Her throat worked.</p><p>Thomas Warren’s expression was unreadable as he withdrew. She could feel it - a mind approaching theirs with a powerful psychic energy. They looked up sharply-</p><p>Just in time to see Charlie Strand standing in the doorway. Dressed in a dark purple and blue dress that bordered on a suit like her father, she fixed her sparkling blue eyes on the two of them.</p><p>“Mom? Is everything okay?”</p><p>“It’s fine dear.” She rose, “This is...thomas. He’s a friend.”</p><p>“Well hello there. You must be Doctor Strand’s daughter.”</p><p>“...Ye-es…” She stared him down and Coralee bit back a smirk. Charlie crossed her arms, “And if you’ll excuse me, my father needs my mother on the dance floor.” Her expression turned to Coralee in confusion before she offered her a hand. </p><p>Coralee took it and the girl led her away from Warren with a frown, “...You like him.” </p><p>“...Charlie…”</p><p>The girl stopped, facing her soon-to-be stepmother, “I don’t know who that was and I don’t want to know, what I want to know is. Are you going to break my father’s heart?” </p><p>Her lips pressed into a thin line.</p><p>“Answer me.”</p><p>“Charlie-”</p><p>“<i>Answer me.</i>” She looked hurt, “You like him, you know him from somewhere, and my dad deserves the world so tell me. Are you going to betray him?”</p><p>Coralee drew a breath and <i>reached</i> into her mind. Charlie gasped, stepping back before Coralee spoke, her voice echoing.</p><p>“You tell me.” <br/>---</p><p>The room erupted into applause as Charlie and Coralee appeared. Richard looked at them puzzled, his features twitching beneath the lights. Coralee frowned, swinging into his arms as Etta James began to croon across the speakers.</p><p><i>At Last…</i> </p><p>Richard smelled like aftershave and cologne. She leaned into it, pressed against his chest even as he spun her across the floor.</p><p>
  <i>My love has come along. My lonely days are over…</i>
</p><p>“Everything okay?”  he spun her again, “Charlie seemed upset.</p><p>“Fine.” Charlie looked up at him, and it was her turn to frown, “...Are <i>you</i> okay?” Richard looked like he was in pain, “...Hard time sobering up?”</p><p>“...Headache.” he chuckled, “Just came on kind of suddenly.” </p><p>“When all this is done.” She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “Before we have some fun, I’ll sit with you. My mother used to sit with me in a dark room if I got a headache. Put a cloth on my head, tell me I was all sorts of good things…”</p><p>Richard’s grip tightened on her and he whispered in her ear, “...I love you.”</p><p>
  <i>I found a dream that I could speak to...A dream that I can call my own</i>
</p><p>The wedding passed in a blur and Richard’s headache got worse. She kept her word, the first night of marital bliss spent with him curled up in her lap as she watched TV, ring glinting in the light of television programs - shadows watching them from the darkness. <br/>---</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just two short vignettes into Richard and Coralee’s life to flesh out the events of Amor Fati. <br/>Richard trying to parent Charlie is a thing I picture a lot. Also we stand by psychic Richard and psychic Charlie.<br/>What happened to Mrs. Strand is very vague and I took several liberties - admittedly inspired by The Magnus Archives. My heart goes out to loved ones stricken with dementia.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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